The Redshirt Blues
by flawlessphoenix
Summary: Based on the running gag in Star Trek about the mortality rate of crew members who wear red shirts. Fluff and (attempt at) Humor. minor warning for tentacles.


"Mason, I swear this isn't an excuse for me to see you."

Hearing Corey make light of his serious injury does nothing to help Mason's frown disappear.

But thankfully, Corey's unique genetics - being a hybrid part alien and part human - he had a quicker healing response than the average human. But that didn't make him immune from visits to medical, that were becoming a regular occurrence onboard the USS Beacon.

And now Corey's sitting on the examination table, yet again, shirtless with mild acidic burns covering a good portion of his torso and chest.

The starship's objective was to explore the galaxy for purely research purposes but it seemed almost everywhere they went the crew was met with hostile forces.

Although Mason hated seeing Corey hurt, these days it was the only time they could carve out time to each other. Those previously mentioned hostile forces sent many crew members to the medical section of the USS Beacon. And they weren't as lucky as Corey to have his regenerative abilities.

Mason only wished Corey was luckier not to be injured at all.

Mason waited until the quick scan showed Corey's regenerative ability was working. It was mostly unnecessary since he could see Corey's wounded flesh already beginning to show a healthy pinkish color. A good sign.

"I'm telling you, it's the -"

Corey cut off his doctor/worrisome boyfriend. "Please don't say it again. You sound ridiculous."

But Mason resumed as if Corey hadn't interrupted him. "It's the red shirt!" He shook the offending red colored uniform shirt for emphasis.

"It is not."

"It is! Look, I've been keeping track."

Corey rolled his eyes but perused Mason's data pad obediently like he didn't see it five times already.

Past the six times 'Bryant, Corey' showed at the top of the list were a number of red shirts, as Mason liked to call them, sent to medical after being injured. "This isn't me being paranoid, this is a cold hard fact that red shirts always-"

"Come back alive?" Corey interrupted again.

Mason glared because he knew Corey was trying to diminish his report. Making Mason seem like an overly concerned boyfriend, which he is but with good reason.

"It's just a matter of time before a redshirt winds up KIA - killed in action."

Corey set aside the pad and held Mason's hand. "You know what I see? I see, because of a great captain, everyone on that list has wound up walking out of medical alive… With the exception of Greenberg who somehow knocked himself into a coma."

Probably for the best, or Greenberg's incompetence would've gotten him killed by now and served Mason a point to his theory.

"As long as you never become a redshirt, and use that beautiful, brilliant mind to keep us red shirts in good health - we'll all make it back home alive."

Mason squeezed his boyfriend's hand. He could feel all anxiety draining from his body. "Corey Bryant… Is this a weird time to tell you I love you?"

Corey preened up at Mason, chest puffing at the endearment and mouth open ready to repeat the same three heart warming words.

"A little bit, yeah." Theo Raeken called out.

Mason groaned violently at the moment ruiner. He pulled the curtains back with more force than necessary to tell off the intruding patient on the other side of the examination room.

But Mason was left speechless and, much like his slack jawed boyfriend, cartoonishly owl-eyed. There, legs propped up and spread apart, was Theo with an alien tentacle parasite being slowly... delivered? extracted? from between his legs.

Corey had never been so happy to have acid spat at him, looking at the alternative of what could've happened.

Mason remembered a little too late he's supposed to be a professional caretaker with good bedside manner and stopped gawking at the sight. He separated them in faux isolation with a swipe of the curtain.

"Maybe it was a bad time to say it…" Mason stared at nowhere in particular, stunned in horror at the sight. Theo wouldn't be sitting down anytime in the foreseeable future with the size of that thing coming out of him.

"Hey," Corey's soft voice brought him back to the here and now. "There is never a wrong time to hear I love you from the brilliant, beautiful doctor Mason Hewitt."

Corey was laying it on pretty thick but it did work. Just like every other time Mason worked himself up worrying about him.

"And I love you too, just in case it wasn't clear."

Mason smiled easily at his boyfriend. "It couldn't be more clear."

Corey pulled Mason by the hips between his legs.

He wanted a kiss, that much was obvious, and as Corey's caretaker Mason was dedicated to fully providing for his patient's needs. He cradled Corey's face in his hands, thumbs caressing his cheeks in small circles, then he leaned in to place his lips onto Corey's - careful not to press on his boyfriend's scarred body.

Even the loud labor pains next to them of Theo after being told to push as hard as he could couldn't dissolve the passionate surge in tempo the kiss soon took.

"I think it's a boy. Aww, isn't he cutie! You wanna give him a kiss?"

"Fuck you, Stiles! Get that shit away from me! And kill it with fire!"

If hearing that and the burns still waiting to be healed couldn't stop Corey from pulling Mason flush against him as he continued to kiss his boyfriend hungrily, Mason felt securely confident that nothing in the world, in any world they visited, could stop Corey from returning back to him. Alive.

A/N:

This isn't really relevant to the story but: I never say who the Captain is, it's Scott.


End file.
